


The Fall of Princes

by marybarrymore



Category: 15th Century CE RPF
Genre: Gen, Le Roy Engloys (song), The Wheel of Fortune
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29513169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marybarrymore/pseuds/marybarrymore
Summary: The musicians started playing, and a melody rang in the prince's ears, the same tune that Fortescue had covered his ears to keep him from hearing. But this time the judge was not there to cover his ears. The courtiers laughed and mocked and shouted the words at him, and he finally understood what they were celebrating.
Kudos: 3





	The Fall of Princes

"You must not be like your father," Fortescue told him, "for under his rule the king was poor and the nobles rich, the subjects over-mighty and their ambition so great that they overthrew the king and made the rightful heir of England an exile. You should follow the example of your grandfather, for when he lived the king was strong and the nobles never dared to disobey him."

The prince listened quietly to his tutor with his chin resting on his hand, his other hand fiddling with the pendant of his collar, his nails picking at the golden beak of the little enameled swan. His mother, the queen, would have slapped his hand if she saw this. She had given him this badge only yesterday and asked him to distribute many similar ones to his knights. It was the badge of the Prince of Wales, she told him, stroking his hair, and it was an honour for the Prince's knights to wear it. When the old judge came to him today with his unfinished manuscripts, he caught a glimpse of the swan dangling from his neck and told him that the former Prince of Wales had also distributed similar badges to his retainers.

"My father?" The prince asked in disgust, reaching out to the badge, about to rip it off.

Fortunately, the judge stopped him in time. Not your father, he said, it was the badge your grandfather used when he was Prince of Wales, your father never used the swan but preferred the leopard - perhaps because the swan was also the badge of the late Duke of Gloucester. The King hated Duke Humphrey.

A drop of rain fell from the ceiling on Fortescue's manuscript, staining one of its words. It was raining again. The judge gathered up his half-written manuscript and, pulling a tin basin from aside, placed it on the table and started lecturing the prince. Amidst the clinking sound of the rain falling on the bottom of the basin, he talked about his father and grandfather, about how great a man his grandfather was and what a weakling his father had been, about how the alien city in which they now lived had bowed to his grandfather, and the palace in which they lodged had once been his grandfather's possession, until his father lost it all. From the great hall not far away came the singing and dancing sound of the nobles of France, yet Fortescue told the prince that not many years ago the nobles of England had sung and danced in the same hall. The prince found it hard to imagine such a scene. He and his mother had fled their country like fugitives into this country whose tongue was unfamiliar to his ears. Yet the judge told him that his grandfather and father once ruled this kingdom, and had his father been a worthy king, he would have been the rightful heir to all these. Such thoughts only made him hate his father more.

King Henry VI was not with them, and the queen showed little sign of surprise when she received news of her husband's capture a few days before. The last time the prince saw his father was on the run, when the king's insanity set in and he recognized neither his wife nor his son. The prince was led to his father, knelt in front of him and called his name, but looked up to see the king's unfocused, pale eyes staring at the empty stone wall in front of him, drooling from the corner of his mouth and muttering incomprehensible words. The prince, in a fit of childish curiosity, tried to hear what his lord and father said in his madness, but was immediately pulled away. It was nothing but a madman's nonsense, the Earl of Oxford told him sternly, my lord, our sole hope lies in you. But the prince still faintly heard what the mad king muttered. Enough, enough, said the king, don't pester me. I'm not what you think. It made no sense to him, and he left them behind just like he did the mad king. The Earl of Oxford was right: he should not waste time on crazy talks.

From the hall came the sound of caroling. The prince caught the word " Anglais" in the song, one of the few French words he knew by heart, and turned his head to hear it more clearly, but his tutor turned his head away and covered his ears. Don't listen, said Fortescue, and better don't understand, the pastimes of the French unbecomes our Englishmen. Another drop of rain hit the basin on the table, Fortescue let go of his ears and when he listened again the music from the hall had changed.

The prince loathed his father. From the first day he arrived at the Louvre some Frenchmen would block his way and laugh at him and point at him. Behold, they said, this is the son of the English lunatic. He was so like his father; he must also be mad. The prince looked into the mirror and saw a pair of pale eyes looking at him, the same as those hollow eyes he hated. He rubbed his eyes so hard that they became red and swollen, but when he looked again the same pale eyes in the mirror looked back at him. He threw down the mirror and threw himself into his tutor's arms, whimpering in anger, and the old judge rubbed his unruly curls and told him that you don't look like your father, it is your grandfather that you resemble. He looked up at the old man's wrinkled face. I have seen king Harry the Fifth in my youth, the old judge assured him, you look exactly like him. Lie? How could I lie to my prince? There is a statue of the king in this city, placed there by the Duke of Bedford after the king's death, if you question my integrity you can see for yourself.

The prince sneaked into the Grand Salle to see the _sa representation_ mentioned by Fortescue, making his way through the hustle and bustle in the hall, through shouting vendors and bargaining citizens. The statue of the deceased kings looked down on the worldly bustle from niches above the merchants' heads. The prince squinted at the inscriptions at the feet of the statues, from Faramond to Charlemagne; from Charlemagne to Saint Louis, until he saw the one next to the statue of Philip Duke of Burgundy, dressed in ermine and holding a sceptre. Its face mutilated, the inscriptions at its feet scratched and unrecognizable. He tiptoed, trying hard to distinguish the statue's damaged face. The outline of his own face resembled it somehow … and his nose … his lips … A vendor hit on the prince's back. The prince jumped, fumbling and apologizing, until seeing the expression on the citizen's face soften. He pointed at the mutilated statue and in broken French asked the man about it. The man glanced up at it and spat.

"Foreigner?" He asked, "This is not a king of France. The statue was placed here when Paris was in English hands – long before you were born and little wonder that you do not know – that is their English king, Henry the Fifth, cursed be his lineage," He said, and spat again at it, "And when our King Charles entered Paris victoriously, he saw the statue of this English king among his great predecessors, and contented himself with hacking its face." His small, dark eyes turned to the statue, then to the prince. The prince suddenly got nervous, fearful that the citizen's keen eyes would detect something. He muttered his thanks to the man and fled the hall as fast as his legs would carry him.

The prince never met King Charles the Victorious. When he arrived in France the king was Louis, Charles' son and heir. This king of France, a short, plain man wrapped in a grey surcoat as plain as his look, came up to the prince as he was once again blocked in a corner by the nobles of France making fun of him. He saw the prince bowing to him and laughed, turning his head and shouted at a man called Montferrand, asking if he would meet his cousin of England. The youth, Montferrand, summoned by the king, looked at the prince with a gloomy expression on his face. Nay my lord, he answered the king, I have no English cousins. The King of France laughed heartily, reached out at the Prince's curls before walking briskly away. The nobles who had gathered around the prince to taunt him broke up. Montferrand stared at the prince for a moment and smiled, shouting for a new song. Let them play that note, he shouted in a laughter, let them play 'le roy engloys', and let our guest of England appreciate it with us. He hummed a tune and those in the hall roared with laughter. The musicians started playing, and a melody rang in the prince's ears, the same tune that Fortescue had covered his ears to keep him from hearing. But this time the judge was not there to cover his ears. The courtiers laughed and mocked and shouted the words at him, and he finally understood what they were celebrating.

**The Song 'Le Roy Engloys', with English subtitle, can be listened on[youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdCIKfwKJ40)**

**Author's Note:**

> Well this work is Edward of Westminster's POV yet I find myself still writing about Henry V ... tragic
> 
> The song which the French courtiers sang in the text, 'le Roy Engloys' (The King of England) was a song from the Bayeux Manscript. Written in the 1450s it celebrated the early death of Henry V and the expulsion of the English from Maine and Normandy.
> 
> Henry V's statue in Paris: When Charles VII made his entry into Paris, he found the statue of Henry V of England occupying a niche in the Grand Salle, in the series of the Kings of France, and allowed it to remain, contenting himself with merely mutilating the face. (See Wylie, Reign v. 1)
> 
> Montferrand: François Montferrand, son and heir of Pierre II de Montferrand and Mary of Bedford. After the execution of his father in 1454 he was reared in the court of Charles VII and later served Louis XI's brother Charles.
> 
> I'm not sure about Edward of Westminster's appearance, but Henry VI in his youth did much resemble his father Henry V


End file.
